Director: Joseph Kosinski
Cast: Brad Pitt, Damson Idris, Kerry Condon, Javier Bardem, Tobias Menzies
Runtime: 156 minutes
 
In F1, director Joseph Kosinski (Top Gun: Maverick) straps us into the cockpit of Formula One racing and rockets us through a slick, polished, adrenaline-drenched underdog story. It’s got roaring engines, slow-motion tire changes, and Brad Pitt with just enough wrinkles and wear to pass as the sport’s elder statesman. But while the film roars into high gear technically, narratively it feels like it’s idling in neutral just a bit too long.
 
Let’s start with the obvious: this film looks spectacular. Kosinski and cinematographer Claudio Miranda deploy their high-def arsenal with surgical precision. IMAX cameras mounted inside the cars make you feel like your organs are rearranging at 300 mph. The editing, courtesy of Stephen Mirrione, slices between cockpit chaos and calm pit-lane strategy with razor-sharp precision. It’s the kind of film where every gear shift and wheel bolt feels like a heartbeat. Even if you don’t know DRS from a diffuser, you’ll feel every corner and overtaking maneuver.
 
Where F1 fumbles is where so many sports dramas stall — in stretching a time-tested formula across two and a half hours. Pitt’s Sonny Hayes, a washed-up driver looking for redemption, is exactly the kind of grizzled mentor the genre thrives on. Damson Idris plays the cocky young gun who needs humility and wisdom to unlock his full potential. There’s a lovable underdog team, a savvy female engineer (played with steely charm by Kerry Condon), and Javier Bardem as the chaotic team owner just trying to hold the wheels on. All the familiar components are here — but so are the narrative potholes.
 
The movie shines when it sticks to the fundamentals: tension in the pit lane, interpersonal drama between Sonny and Joshua, and the sheer terror of pushing a machine to its limits. But then the screenplay tries to force a rival arc out of thin air. The film’s late-stage pivot into villain territory — via a rival team or some murky backroom politics — feels tacked on, like someone remembered the third act needed an antagonist and rushed it in from the garage. It’s not just underdeveloped; it’s unnecessary.
 
And for all its obsession with precision, F1 gets a bit clunky with exposition. There’s a moment during the final race where the characters stop to explain a complex tire rule — and it nearly stalls the climax. That’s a shame, because until that point, the film did a solid job of showing rather than telling. When a pit crew member redeems her arc in a three-second tire change, it’s thrilling. When someone breaks that momentum with rulebook jargon, you’re reminded you’re watching a script, not a race.
 
That said, Brad Pitt is still very much Brad Pitt. Sonny Hayes may be written with clichés, but Pitt sells every line like he’s lived it. He’s part philosopher, part cowboy, part Michael Schumacher with a hangover. His chemistry with Kerry Condon adds emotional weight, and Damson Idris, while occasionally one-note, grows into his role nicely by the final lap.
 
The best way to describe F1 is that it’s a perfectly tuned racecar... that's just running a bit long. Like a pit stop that lasts two seconds too many, it leaves you slightly restless in the back stretch. But when it hits its stride — the roaring sound design, the balletic choreography of tire changes, the IMAX-optimized race sequences — it's a reminder that few directors film movement quite like Joseph Kosinski.
 
F1 is sleek, gorgeous, and emotionally satisfying in all the ways a solid sports movie should be. It doesn’t reinvent the wheel, and maybe it tries to bolt on a few too many story elements, but the craftsmanship is undeniable. It’s not Rush or Ford v Ferrari, but it’s a finely made addition to the genre — more pit stop than podium, but definitely worth the ride.